“Where you going?” Alex’s stepmom asked as he lurked out of his room, past the stack of cardboard boxes. He pulled his hood up over his head without the slightest glance in her direction. “Be safe!” she shouted while cramming another handful of potato chips in her face, eyes affixed on the television set flickering on top of an unopened box. 

The storm door swung shut behind him. He crossed the yard and ducked under the caution tape that served as a barrier from oncoming trick-or-treaters, and disappeared into the twilight of the evening. 

Tucked just out of sight, a group of high school kids huddled in the woods, their eager eyes fixed on the colorful swarm of costumed children roaming the street. “Yo, look at the guts on that zombie kid, that’s actually wicked, man,” said Tony. 

“That costume’s pretty sick too, the headless clown over there!” Tyler pointed out a few houses down. “Dawg why’d all we get was pillow cases and sheets for costumes growing up?” He laughed.

“Cuz yer mama didn’t love you, dipshiz,” mocked Stacey with a mean smirk.

“She did too,” mumbled Tyler in timid defense.

“Morons!” shrieked Cam. “Shut up, here he comes.”

“Who, Cam?” asked Tony.

“The new kid, you idiot,” snapped Stacey with a roll of her eyes. 

Alex stopped at the street sign on the corner of Giant Oak Road and Mulberry Avenue. 

“Pssst,” whistled Cam. “Up here!” Alex honed in on the noise and climbed up the barrier into the woods.

“Hey, wussup guys?” said Alex with a cool guy chin-up toward Cam, Tyler and Tony. “How u doin’, Stace?” The words, cool as ice, gliding off his tongue with charming arrogance any teenage girl would go weak for.

Cam pulled a carton of eggs out from a black knapsack and shoved it into Alex’s gut. “Let’s cut to the chase,” he said. Alex took the carton in his hands, popped open the lid and inspected all twenty-four eggs that were surprisingly in perfect condition. “You see our victims down there?” started Cam. Alex nodded, unphased. “Hit one!” he said nonchalantly.

It was the time-honored tradition of egging, a mischievous act that had been passed down from generation to generation. A step above toilet paper and two steps above shaving cream.

Alex was the new kid in school, but it wasn’t his first time around the block. His family moved around a lot for his dad’s job so he had developed the habit of mixing in with the wrong crowd because he knew it wouldn’t matter what shenanigans he got into; he and his family would be gone, and onto the next sleepy town with the same hierarchy of lame kids before the season was out. And fortunately for Alex, consequences rarely followed. Besides, with all the yelling and bickering, it was good to get out of the house.

“Come on, Alex! Throw it. Don’t be such a wimp,” Tony sneered, nudging him playfully. “You’re the newbie, and that means you gotta prove yourself. Throw the dang egg!”

“Shut up, Tony, I’m no wimp. Who you want me to throw it at?”

An evil grin inched across Cam’s face. He leaned in, whispering in a sinister tone to Alex’s ear. “You know the rules, right new guy? It’s five points for a kid, ten for an adult, and a whopping twenty for an old person. Whether they’re trick-or-treating or handing out candy, it doesn’t matter. Anything goes.”

Alex glanced down at the white egg in his fist. He knew it was wrong, but he didn’t really care. He was numb at this point and just searching for something that could make him feel.

He wound up his best pitcher’s throw and hurled the egg. It struck an unsuspecting target—a petite old lady with white speckled hair, handing out candy from a jack-o’-lantern-shaped bowl on her porch. The egg hit her square in the chest, and she let out a startled cry, stumbling backward. Candy suspended like snowflakes in the air.

Suddenly, time seemed to slow as Alex watched in horror. The old lady clutched her chest, her face contorted in pain. She collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. Panic erupted among the trick-or-treaters who had been visiting her house.

The high schoolers hidden in the woods were paralyzed with fear, their mischievous grins replaced by wide-eyed terror. They exchanged frantic looks, realizing the gravity of what had just happened. The Halloween night had taken a dark and sinister turn they had never anticipated.

Sirens wailed in the distance, approaching rapidly. Cop cars and an ambulance raced down the road, their flashing lights casting eerie shadows through the trees. Panic surged through Alex’s veins as he turned and fled with the others, desperate to escape the consequences of his thoughtless act. They sprinted through the woods, their sniggering laughter from moments ago replaced by fear and remorse.

Alex’s heart hammered in his chest, and his vision blurred with tears. He felt a searing pain in his side as he ran, but he couldn’t stop. And then, in a moment of cruel irony, he tripped over a gnarled root, tumbling headlong into the darkness. His world went black, and the last thing he heard before everything faded away was the distant sound of sirens and screams.

As Alex slowly regained consciousness, he found himself in a strange and eerie place. The weight of his guilt bore down on him, his mind haunted by the vivid flashbacks of the old woman’s face—the transformation from a joyful smile to a gaping scream of immense pain. He clawed at his own head in a desperate attempt to make the haunting images stop. But the relentless regret and guilt seemed unyielding. His pounding headache escalated into a debilitating migraine, and his vision blurred as he writhed in agony on the ground.

Amidst the chaos in his mind, Alex could sense a looming presence, a large silhouette with ominous horns approaching. He mustered all the strength he had left to crawl away, but his energy had been whittled down to nearly nothing. Before he could escape, the horned creature reached him, seizing Alex with a powerful grip and tossing a cloth over his head.

Darkness enveloped him, disorienting and frightening him further. Barely conscious, he felt the creature’s massive steps carrying him deeper into the woods.

As he was carried along, Alex overheard a hushed exchange between two voices, both filled with concern. They didn’t sound like the menacing creatures he expected. Instead, they seemed caring and compassionate, which only deepened his confusion.

A woman’s voice, gentle and soothing, said, “Don’t be frightened, young one. We must help ease that terrible headache of yours.” What had he stumbled into? He struggled to make sense of his surroundings as the cloth shrouded him. Finally, the woman announced, “I’m removing the cloth from your head now, dear.” As the fabric was lifted, Alex blinked against the sudden burst of light. He gasped as his eyes adjusted to the scene before him. The figures were unlike anything he had ever seen before.

An elderly couple stood before him, but they were definitely not human. The old man had a jack-o’-lantern head, with a flickering candle inside that illuminated his eyes and mouth. He looked kindly at Alex, despite his eerie, rotting appearance. The woman had the face of a black cat, but she was very old, her fur matted and turning silver and gray. The horned monster, whom Alex now saw in the light of a quaint little cottage, appeared bright red, like some sort of devil. He nodded to the elderly couple and then turned to Alex. “I must go now to collect the rest. But you are safe with Mr. Jack and Ms. Hazel for the time being.”

Alex had no idea what that meant, but his curiosity was piqued amidst his lingering dread and confusion. He gazed up at the strange couple and stammered, “Wh-where am I? Who are you?”

The old man with the jack-o’-lantern head smiled warmly. “You’re in Halloween Town, my boy. My name’s Jack, and this here is my beloved Hazel.”

Hazel the cat purred softly and nodded, her vermillion eyes filled with empathy. Jack continued. “You’ve come to us for a reason, Alex, my boy. Halloween Town is just the place you ought to be. You know, folks say I’ve got a face only a ghoul could love, but it’s what’s inside that counts, isn’t it? And inside this cranium, you’ll find the wisdom of countless All Hallows’ Eves.” 

Jack knocked on his hollow pumpkin head and stared Alex down with illuminated triangle eyes and a jagged grin. Alex blinked speechlessly, his face twisting in ways it never had before. 

“I’ve been ’round the block more times than you can count the candy corn in a bag, sonny. Life ain’t no corn maze, it’s more like a twisted, enchanted forest with secrets in every tree and demons in every shadow. But don’t worry now, my boy, we’ll be here after you face ‘em. You understand?”

Alex gave a perplexed look. He didn’t understand. Not at all. 

“Here, we help those who have lost their way, and if all goes well, you’ll be flying right home like a crow scared straight. But you know how the old saying goes, my boy.”

Hazel finished his thought. “Yes, sometimes the only way out is through.”

Alex’s heart raced, his mind swirling with questions that he couldn’t quite form.  He watched, dumbfounded as Hazel prepared a cozy spot on a lounger for him beside the fireplace. He felt a strange sense of comfort wash over him. The roaring fire danced with a mesmerizing rhythm, casting flickering shadows on the walls of the quaint cottage. Hazel began to prepare an elixir. “For your headache, dear,” she reassured as she practiced her potion making with such deliberate craft.

She moved gracefully around the room, gathering various ingredients and adding them to a giant cauldron that hung above the fire. Her movements were poetic, like a soothing lullaby. She plucked some feathers from a pelt on the mantel and tossed them into the pot. Some lavender sprigs, a sprinkle of rosemary, a pinch of sugar, a slice of dried fruit or two. It was almost like counting sheep, and before he knew it, Alex’s eyelids drooped.

Hazel glanced over at him with a knowing smile and said, “Rest your head, Alex. I cannot give you the elixir just yet, but only after the process. It will help with your headache, but sleep will be the best remedy ‘til you’re ready.”

With a nod, Alex nestled into the soft chair, his eyes still trained on the dancing flames. The room was filled with a comforting warmth, both from the fire and from the sense of belonging, even in this strange place.

As Hazel continued to work, Alex began to drift away.  But he was suddenly ripped from his peace by her cry. “Ow!” she hissed as a reaction to a rose thorn pricking into the pad of her paw. In an instant, Jack, the old man with the jack-o’-lantern head, rushed to her side. He tore a piece of his unraveling sweater and carefully wrapped her injured paw.

Hazel chastised him gently. “Jack, please don’t run so fast, you know what could happen.” 

Jack’s candlelit eyes flickered with concern as he said, “I know, Hazel, but I cannot bear to see you in pain. It carves a hole in my side, my love. “

Alex watched this tender exchange between the two Halloween monsters, their love and care for each other evident in every gesture. They were old and worn, their features far from conventionally beautiful, but their hearts were genuine in their capacity to love and care for one another. 

Hazel sighed, her voice filled with affection. “Jack, be careful with your candle. If it goes out…” 

Jack’s voice trembled as he finished her sentence. “…I’ll die, and you wouldn’t know what to do without me.”

Alex’s heart ached as he observed their relationship. It was a love that had endured through the years, weathered countless storms, and still burned as brightly as Jack’s candle. In that moment, he understood that although they weren’t easy on the eyes, the real monsters weren’t the creatures of Halloween Town, but rather the rotten-hearted humans making a mockery of them back in his own world. And he was one of them.

His guilt returned to plague him for what he had done to that old woman when he struck her with that egg. Did he kill her? He wasn’t sure. His anxiety increased with the sound of heavy footfalls approaching the cottage.

The devil creature, whom Alex had first encountered when he arrived in Halloween Town, returned with several more human kids in tow. Among them, Alex recognized three faces that sent a shiver down his spine—Tony, Stacey and Cam. Fear weighed heavy in his heart. There was also a fourth kid; some younger boy in middle school who seemed to be causing trouble of his own that night. The devil creature cleared his throat, his deep voice resonating through the room. “Folks, we’ve got some newcomers. These are the ones who’ve been causing trouble in your world, but that’s about to change.”

Alex hurried over to Stacey and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “You good?” he asked her. 

“Yea. I’m okay,” she said in a shaky voice.

Hazel, who had been tending to a simmering cauldron, turned her attention to the newcomers with a warm yet firm expression. “Welcome to Halloween Town. I hope you are ready for what lies ahead, but you must first acknowledge your monstrous actions.”

Alex shifted uncomfortably, guilt washing over him. Although Hazel and Jack had been more than hospitable, he sensed a new air of looming danger and felt the need to protect his comrades the best he could. “It was me who did it, please, they don’t have to be here… I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It was just a prank…but I will pay for what I did. Please, let them go,” Alex begged.

The fourth kid, fists full of caramel chews, interrupted with a bark. “Hey! I’m not going anywhere ‘til I get my candy, I was told there’d be more here so…where is it, old man?” he aggressively aimed at Jack.

Jack, with his flickering candle eyes, stepped forward and addressed the troublesome newcomer. “Young man, your selfishness and cruelty has no place here in Halloween Town. And this goes for all of you,” he waved a crooked finger around the room. “In the pumpkin patch of life, you’re bound to encounter a few rotten seeds, but I’m here to remind you that even in the most chilling of circumstances, kindness remains the most potent spell of all. It’s simple really, if you open your heart up to it, but sadly – not all do.”

The devil creature, who had been observing silently, added, “You will have to learn the true meaning of Halloween if you wish to go back home.”

“Thank you, Astan,” said Jack to the red devil. “Would you do the honors?”

“Certainly,” said Astan as he offered a giant red hand to Stacey, encouraging her to trust him.

With a mixture of hope, guilt, and uncertainty swirling in the room, Alex and the others knew that they stood at a crossroads. Halloween Town offered a chance for redemption, but somehow Alex knew it wouldn’t be an easy path.

Stacey grabbed his hand and glanced back at the boys with a fearful gulp in her throat. Astan pulled her toward a clearing in the cottage where there was nothing but wooden floorboard and a single candle sconce for light. He let go of her hand and gestured for her to stay put where she was, as he backed up slowly.

“Let her go!” said Alex, rising. But Jack stepped before him, and the carved smile on his jack-o-lantern face sank from jolly to menacing like melting wax. Alex immediately sat back down, and Jack’s face returned to its previous shape.

“Look into my eyes,” said Astan. And she did.

A moment of eye gazing and Stacey suddenly backed up, wide eyed and terrified.  She grew increasingly more fearful, screaming and yelling and floundering in a fit of jerking movements.

“What’s happening to her? Stop it!” said Alex, then looking to Jack and Hazel. “Make him stop whatever he’s doing to her!”

“Alex,” said Jack, “you see just as well as I that Astan here has done nothing to her. It’s the process, Alex. You have to trust it. Your turn will come and you will understand, but don’t interrupt her process.”

Alex shrunk back. 

“No!” said Stacey. “No, I’m better than that!” She then screamed at the top of her lungs. “Noooo!” And she collapsed.  

Picking herself up, she looked around the room to Astan, Jack, Hazel, and the boys and let a smile creep onto her face.

Hazel ladeled a spoonful of elixir into a mug and held it out toward Stacey. “Here you are, hun, this will aid you on your journey back home.” Stacey accepted the warm beverage without hesitation and followed Hazel back by the fire.

“Who’s next?” asked Astan to the four remaining. Tony volunteered and again the others watched in fascination. Nothing seemed to happen to Tony either, yet he cursed and hissed at the sight of Astan after staring deep into his eyes. But he, too, walked away seemingly calm, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, and welcomed Hazel’s mug of elixir to his lips.

The kid who wasn’t part of their original group went next. He, too, stared into Astan’s eyes, but ultimately faced a much different fate. Instead of fighting against an unheard voice, he began to laugh, loud and eerily.

“We’re losing him Jack,” shrieked Hazel with a worried scowl.

“My love, it is up to him now, you know as well as I there ain’t nothing we can do if he chooses to oblige them ghostly tarnished souls,” he reminded her gently yet sternly. Hazel gasped and grabbed at her scarf to shield her eyes.

The next thing that occurred took them all by surprise except for Astan who remained staring straight into the eyes of the maniacally giggling boy.

Suddenly, his laugh grew louder and deeper until it twisted into a voice much lower than the boy’s natural tone, and his face began to contort and twist into a grotesque form. Then his body contorted into a ghastly visage. He sprouted double the legs and triple the arms. He had become a nightmarish creature that Alex couldn’t label as anything other than a monster.

“What’s happened to him?” shouted Alex, mouth gaping. “You said to trust the process!”

“Oh dear! It’s such a shame,” said Hazel. “He let his stubbornness get the best of him. He wasn’t willing to battle his demons and accept that he needed to change his cold heart.”

“What’s going to happen to him now?” asked Cam who had been quiet the entire time.

Hazel responded. “He has become a demon of the night, dear. He will live on to torture innocent souls, but only in the deepest corners of their fearful minds. He has let his demons consume him, and he has chosen to become a thing of nightmares, and…” she paused for a moment of silent bereavement, “and that is where he will remain.”

Stacey clasped a hand over her mouth. “You mean, that could have happened to me too?” she yelped. The others stood, jaws dropped in disbelief.

“Only if your heart wasn’t willing to change for the better, my dear,” reassured Hazel. “But don’t you worry, hun, you did a fine job.”

Stacey turned to look at Cam and Alex with horror. “We’ll be okay, Stace,” Alex said shakily, not even with enough confidence to convince himself. 

Cam approached Astan next. “I’m ready,” he said, looking the devil in the eye. Although Alex was unsure at first of which way it would turn out, he was proud to see Cam walk off unharmed after the event.

“You got this bro,” a fresh-faced Cam encouraged Alex, patting him on the shoulder before joining Stacey, Tony and Hazel by the fire.

Alex looked toward Astan who was waiting patiently in the darkened corner of the room. He wasn’t too sure he would walk away from this. After all, he was the one who threw the egg that hit the old lady. And if he was being honest with himself, he chose her because she embodied what he couldn’t be at that time. Happy. Alex’s heart pounded in his chest as he stepped closer to Astan, ready to confront the darkness within himself. His mind raced with memories of the old lady’s pain and the chaos that followed. 

As he locked eyes with Astan, Alex felt a surge of emotions wash over him; memories of his past misdeeds and the pain he had caused others. It was as though his entire life was playing out before him, and he couldn’t look away. He saw the faces of people he had hurt, the friends he had betrayed, and the opportunities he had squandered.

The voices of his demons, the nagging doubts and self-loathing that had plagued him for so long echoed in his mind. They whispered accusations and taunts, reminding him of his failures and shortcomings. Alex clenched his fists, determined to face it all head-on.

Astan’s eyes pierced through Alex’s soul, and for a moment, he felt like he was on the verge of breaking.

But instead, a newfound strength welled up within him. He remembered the kindness of Jack and Hazel, the chance they had given him for redemption. He thought about the love and care he had witnessed between the strange Halloween creatures.

With a deep breath, Alex pushed back against the demons that tormented him. He envisioned helping the people he had hurt, mending the past betrayals, and seizing the opportunities he had squandered. Slowly, the tension in the room began to ease as the other onlookers watched in anticipation.

Finally, Alex let out a roar of defiance.

Astan nodded in approval, a rare smile crossing his devilish face. “You’ve done well, boy.”

Relief brushed over Alex as he stepped away from Astan, feeling lighter than he had in years. He joined the others by the fire.

Jack and Hazel looked at the group with pride and warmth. “Here!” Jack said, offering something from his mangled hand. “These are for you to remember how far you have come and to know that Hazel n’ I are proud of you.” He presented a handful of spider rings. Unlike the plastic toy kind, these rings were made from a much sturdier material, meant to endure through the years ahead. “You have all taken the first step toward redemption,” Jack said, his jack-o’-lantern face glowing with approval. “But remember, the journey is not over. You must continue to grow, to change, and to make amends. It is the grin on the outside that spreads the warmth in your heart on the inside. You all have what you need within you to light up the darkest of nights.”

Hazel added, “I couldn’t have said it better myself, love, but the one thing I will say is that I hope you will all take these lessons to heart and share them with others as your journey continues.”

She handed Alex a cozy mug of elixir, and he sipped in the warmth. 

He wasn’t sure if or when he had fallen asleep, but when he awoke, he was lying in the woods, staring up at the moon. He sleepily pondered the face it made, its cratered skin reminding him much of Jack’s rotting pumpkin head. 

Alex got up and inspected his body for any injury. He seemed okay, but he just didn’t feel quite right. Was any of that even real? He reached in his pocket and pulled out a closed fist. Tightly enveloped by the warmth of his hand was the spider ring. Alex smiled, holding it in his fist, and made his way to the street. 

He emerged from the woods unafraid to face the consequences of what he had done. His face switched from red to blue as the police cars were still surrounding the old woman’s house. 

Alex gulped hard, and clenched his fist tight. The old woman was sitting upright on a gurney, surrounded by paramedics. Alex excused himself past the first responders and approached the old woman. She gave him a puzzled look.

Alex cleared his throat. “Ma’am,” he addressed her politely, “my name is Alex, and I threw that egg. I’m sorry to have done it, ma’am, and I truly hope you’re going to be okay. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, just…”

The woman cut him off with an unforeseen act. She smiled sweetly, put out her old wrinkled hand, grabbed his fist tightly and shook as if she wanted him to open it. 

Alex furrowed his brow in a pinch, but bloomed his fist to reveal the spider ring nonetheless. The woman smiled and picked the ring up. “You are forgiven,” she said to him as she picked the ring out of his palm and slipped it onto his finger. It wasn’t until this moment when Alex realized the woman had a matching ring on. 

“Thank you,” said Alex as he stared down at the ring on his own hand, starting to realize the depth of what it symbolized.

“You are welcome,” she replied. “ Happy Halloween.”

Alex smiled and nodded, and turned away. He caught sight of Stacey, Cam, Tyler and Tony appearing from the edge of the woods. The four of them traded a silent exchange of unspoken words. Alex got the sense that things were going to be very different from now on. But better, definitely better. 

“What happened to you guys?” asked Tyler to Cam. Cam chuckled and darted a look at Stacey. “We’ll tell you when you’re older, kid,” Stacey joshingly teased Tyler. But now that Alex got a good look at him, under the reflection of the moonlight, he almost looked like that middle-grader that turned into a monster. 

Alex shrugged.

A brightness grew in his heart. Halloween Town, whether it was real or not, had not only saved him from the darkness of his own soul but had also revealed to him one of the best parts about being a human.

The post Monsters first appeared on The Writing Forge.

The post Monsters appeared first on The Writing Forge.

Advisory: This short story contains some mild vulgar language.

Day 1: I have been given a digital notepad, of sorts, to journal my memories and perhaps any useful information I have learned about our past world. That feels strange to say so soon, while buildings still burn and families still hide away with dwindled hope. My journaling will be crucial to the continued excellence of the human race, or so I’ve been told.

            I still sit in darkness. It’s a temporary quarantine they say. I doubt any of their intentions are true. I didn’t sign up for this hellish bunker. I had been running by when the ground unlatched beneath me as flames and ash tore through the sky. A tangle of hands pulled me down and the next thing I saw was blackness.

            I will continue this journal, for my sake, not for theirs. Whoever they may be. Tomorrow is a new day, and hopefully one with a little more light.

Day 2: I woke with a crick in my neck from sleeping in a metal box that was far too cramped for my tastes. I remained in darkness for a time, until one of the walls slid entirely off to blind me with pristine light from the beyond. Without a lick of hospitality, I was brutishly ripped from my one time home and presented in front of what very well could be the ugliest pair of individuals I‘ve ever had the displeasure of laying my eyes on. The troll to my left was at least six and a half feet tall, dark slicked back hair, eyes that were too close together, and a nose that had been broken at least twice when he was a younger man. He didn’t introduce himself, so I coined him Shitter until further clarification. So, Shitter’s comrade to my right was impossibly taller, darker of skin, and looked as if he’d taken at least three dozen hammer blows to the head in his spare time. Quite the pair, Shitter and, oh let’s call him Pisser. The undisputed ugliest bastards left on this planet, or any planet I’d have to wager. And for all intents and purposes, they would kick my ass if I told either of them the honest truth. Unfortunately for me, they must’ve seen my thoughts through my eyes because they kicked in my stomach with such tremendous force that I nearly lost my breakfast from yesterday.

            When my brain fog cleared and I could sit upright without immense pain, I glanced ahead. Before me, outlined in the stark light was the counterbalance to Shitter and Pisser. An absolutely angelic figure stood with a hand on her hip. Her wavy hair, dark as pitch, flowed down her back and over her shoulders like a majestic river. Her skin was free of blemishes, and those dark blue eyes, nearly midnight, pierced into me. Despite the flawless figure looking down at me, I could sense a tension, even a malice behind her gaze.

            She made no mention of the digital notepad that was thrust upon me by faceless visages just before my short quarantine. She did, however, ask if I had any medical experience or related training. I had a very modest amount, but she didn’t need to know that. I presented my abilities in a grander manner than was accurate. I had first aid training, and even served as an EMT for six months or so. Does that make me a full-fledged doctor? Of course not, but I couldn’t let her down so soon. And besides, whatever else they would have me do if I wasn’t useful would be excruciatingly dull. Write in my notepad while I sit in God knows where underground? Or be shoved out into the rabble that remained of my home? Absolutely not. Maybe this way I can get to the bottom of what happened here, and see what remains of my world.

            She didn’t display any overt joy at her good fortune, but she did gesture for me to follow her. As she walked, and I hobbled behind, she informed me that one of their medical staff was fatally wounded when they were loading into the bunker. What caused the apocalypse? Who caused the apocalypse? And who were these people? Not a clue. But maybe I’m on the right track to find out.

            I was given a fresh set of clothes, access to the showers, and a generous helping of food before I was shown to my new quarters. They were not spacious by any means, but they beat the hell out of that metal prison from last night. Things are looking up already.

            Day 9: The last week has left me too exhausted to log any of my thoughts. When I returned to my room after each day of work they put me through, I was left with only enough energy to shove some food down my gullet and pass out in the bunk. Who would’ve guessed that cramming thousands of people into a tin can in such short succession could cause a variety of injuries? Fortunately, I was not posted to lead any surgeries. They had a plethora of new tech that I didn’t recognize. Seraphina informed me that they had new gen medical technology that would take me months to get up to speed on despite my vast medical knowledge. Ah I forgot, Seraphina was the stunning woman who saved me from the horrendous brothers that started to beat me senseless. And now I’ve been given a lucky break on how to explain why I’m such a shitty doctor. Simple, they’re too advanced in the medical field. I’m a simple fool. Hopefully the humble route will really stretch out the wool over their eyes.

            In my sparse assistance to the legitimate doctors in this yet to be identified bunker, I briefly saw a map in an officer’s quarters. It showed at least 250 levels, but I could not tell which level I was on. All of the medical operations I have been a part of so far have remained on the same floor. I’m really gonna be begging Shitter and Pisser for another kick in the pants if I find out I’m near the bottom of this overly expensive soda can.

            Note to self, and whoever else I may get this to one day. Find out what floor I’m on. Make a plan for ascension. And for crying out loud, find out what is going on here.

Day 13: I have a breakthrough! After a few more days of toil and actually catching on to some medical proficiency, I simply asked a doctor I had worked with where we were. She informed me that we resided on floor 37 of 275. Additionally there are 11 individual medical facilities split across the bunker. I need to start speaking up. Trying to play a lone detective is more restricting than is required. I’m not supposed to be suspicious, so don’t start acting like such. Regardless, step one is complete. Now, time to see if I can be transferred to the top floors, or at least closer to the heart of this machine.

            Side note: There have been deep rumblings, almost like an earthquake every other day or so. This could be a clue to the cause of the apocalypse.

Day 16: I’ve been in the bunker for just over two weeks now. I’ve become rather effective in assisting surgeons and more experienced doctors. I’ve started to befriend one of the shift leaders that I run into on my coffee breaks. He likes it bitter and black, the lunatic. Cream and sugar is the only proper way to consume the stuff. He still hasn’t told me his first name, but I know him as Doctor Donaldson. Dammit man, start asking more questions. Luckily he knows me as New Guy. Can’t particularly mistake me for anyone else since I still can’t hold the laser scalpel quite right, nor do I have the signature diamond crest that all the doctors and other officials seem to wear proudly.

            If this journal ends here, it may be because they asked me to perform a surgery for once. In which case, my patient will most certainly die, followed by myself in short succession. Good luck future me.

Day 21: I ‘m starting to believe that I’m one step closer to my goal. I asked Doctor Donaldson his name yesterday, and it’s John. What a simple name, I could’ve guessed that if given a few tries.

            I have started to wake up feeling refreshed and ready for the day. I think the knowledge that I have coffee waiting for me each morning is what really keeps me going above all else. The satisfaction I get from helping save lives, albeit total strangers that I am wary of, is still overshadowed by that caffeine hit I get three times a day. Do I have a problem? Nah, couldn’t be me.

            I strode to the cafeteria this morning to get a fresh cup of coffee from the communal pot. As the hazelnut aroma danced at my nose, I overheard a conversation between my now friend, John, and someone who seemed to be a military captain of sorts. I recall the last half of what the captain had to say to John. “Floor 260, that is where we will need you. The Archon will need a medical staff on call if he’s to recover from his injuries. You have five days to answer the call. Good day.”

            So, this Archon fella must be heading this entire shit pot from floor 260. Well the coffee is pretty damn good, so I can’t call this place a complete shit pot. Perhaps half and half. All I know is I need to be with John when he goes to floor 260. That’s my ticket out of here, or at least to the center of this mess. 

Day 22: I woke today with a massive headache. It went away after my morning cup of coffee though, strange. I made my way to the prep room for all the medical staff. The room had rows of lockers filled with medical uniforms, surgical masks, and other miscellaneous supplies. As I was putting on my uniform that was absent of any official crest, I looked to my left and saw a nurse putting on his scrubs fastlike. Before he had a chance to bolt off to something far more important, I worked up the nerve to ask him what all of this was, and why we are all here. He looked at me peculiarly and said simply. “We’ve all been ordained by the Divine One. Everyone here has been selected by Her Holiness to serve in one way or another for the new world.” He put a hand on my shoulder and smiled. “I know things must seem strange to you, not being one of us, but the Divine One had you cross our path for a reason. Consider yourself lucky, you’re a special case.” Without another word he scampered off, latex gloves in hand.

            What…the…hell. Well, it’s a great feeling whenever you realize you might be trapped in a doomsday bunker with thousands of religious nutcases. I have to sit on this, I might be deeper than I first thought.

            Sorry, a cult! Really? Each day just keeps getting better. I sip my coffee that I still had from the cafeteria and put on the remainder of my scrubs. Will check back in tomorrow, more progress to be made with John’s voyage to floor 260.

            Day 23: Last night, before I secluded myself to my room, John gave a modest announcement to a select group of nurses and doctors after our shifts. He went on to explain his duty to the Archon in such vague terms that nobody would have known the extent of what he was involved in, at least I couldn’t put the pieces together anymore than my eavesdropping could. He finished his report to the dozen of us that remained by putting another nurse, Sonya, and myself on the hot seat. John told the both of us that he only had one more spot remaining on his staff that would accompany him to floor 260. At least he’s honest enough to tell me I’m bottom of the barrel here. On the other hand, Sonya didn’t look too thrilled with John’s matter of fact statements regarding the two of us. She looked at me, her left eye twitching about like a nervous wreck. I’m not so sure she tried to smile, but whatever she did to her face will be overtly successful in giving me nightmares later. Thanks Sonya. John dismissed us for the night shortly after.

            As I was shuffling out of the room with the rest of the crew, Sonya appeared alongside me with a manic contortion still riddled across her face. She followed it up by croaking out. “You don’t belong here. The Divine One will select me, he must. You have not given everything to Her Holiness like I have. I will not let you take this from me.” Her eye twitch held half of my attention during the tirade. “It would be best if you didn’t try to prove yourself in the next two days. I will pray for your demise if you get any ideas. A nonbeliever such as yourself does not deserve to live in our new world. Do you understand?”

            I was so taken aback from her frantic display and the return of the cultist mumbo jumbo that I didn’t have an answer for her. So I tried to let her down the best I could. I told her, “Sorry, could you repeat that again? I couldn’t hear you over the broccoli in your teeth.” She didn’t like that so much. She cursed under her breath and picked at her teeth as she skirted out of sight.

            Before I was able to get back to my room for some sleep, John tried to calm any nerves I might’ve had about the whole thing. He told me, “Sonya is correct, the Divine One is the beginning and the end of all things in the universe. She is everything to us. That being said, even she takes it too far at times.” He laughed at the situation and padded my back as he left me alone for the night.

            I’ve never considered myself a particularly dark person, but I will need to find a way to remove Sonya from this equation. Even though I’ve been learning fast with the advanced medical tech, I cannot prove myself to have more worth than her. John really stacked the odds against me. I wonder if he only kept me in the loop out of respect for our newfound friendship. Something is quite strange about the whole thing. Could this be a trap for me? No, they don’t have to lay traps. I have no standing in this looney bin. Whatever it is, I have to go full steam ahead. Fingers crossed.

            I’m sitting in the communal lounge area, rereading what I’ve logged so far. Maybe I missed something that could be crucial to my value to John. I only have a few minutes before I need to leave for my shift. A blue holographic list flashed on the wall adjacent to myself. I listed the shift leads and requirements for each staff member attending the shift. Of course, Sonya has been placed in the same section as me, under John’s lead. Dear reader, if there ever is a reader of my caffeine induced ramblings, know if I am dead, it was likely due to Sonya’s religious fervor causing her to poke a million holes in me or worse. Signing off till next time.

Day 24: I write this at precisely 9:47PM after a second straight shift with Sonya and John. I’m under the covers like a frightened toddler and doing my best to not spill my third cup of coffee that I shakily sip from between sentences. Before I get into the details of my second shift, I can safely say John won’t be able to pick Sonya for the position anymore. Now, will he pick me by default? Perhaps only the Divine One knows. It’s a joke, I promise. I haven’t been converted by these lunatics just yet.

            I was in the ICU after a worker was crushed in the elevator shaft, moving crates of food to a lower floor. His arms were mangled beyond reason. John was leading the surgery to mend his arms or amputate if conditions became too dire. I helped Sonya and tried to focus on the man’s life despite my own toils. Fairly selfish of him to distract me from more important things. Good thing I’m a hospitable soul. After nearly an hour of doing my best to assist John in the surgery, he called it and determined the left arm was too far gone to be saved. He gestured for Sonya and myself to lower down the blitz-saw from the ceiling to prepare for amputation. Sonya walked to the designated location where the blitz-saw uncurls from the ceiling. When I reached the console to lower the saw, I noticed one of the dials seemed all rusted and falling apart. I turned it slowly to begin the process and readily moved into position to help Sonya hoist the saw over the patient. As the saw came down slowly but surely, it started to buck and jolt around on the track. I flinched for a moment and tried to grab the saw and bring it under control, but it bucked again and started its rotation that was accompanied by a humming fainter than an owl’s wings. Sonya frantically tried to jump to the handle and grab the saw. She slipped a finger around the handle but fell off before getting a solid grip. As Sonya redoubled her efforts to stop the saw from shorting out, it fell with all the force gravity allowed, and hummed directly into her scalp. It was awful, the noise was reminiscent of a work boot stomping into mud. Sonya never made a noise. She convulsed a few times, reached for her face, then collapsed in a pool of blood and plasma. I stood in shock – hell, I’m still shocked – as my biggest threat lay dead. Despite my panicked breath and sweaty palms, I tried my best not to smile at my good fortune. A macabre gift wrapped in gray matter, just for me. The Divine One couldn’t have been more generous if she tried. Ok, I know, enough is enough with the holy jokes. But I have to admit, the irony was delicious.

            Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled that I didn’t have to get rid of Sonya on my own terms. That would’ve been embarrassing. A new experience for sure, but beginner’s luck can only take me so far. Whatever sideways luck came to my aid a few hours ago has my utmost respect.

            Oh…someone is knocking at my door. The log may have to conclude for the night. Let’s hope the Divine One isn’t here to even the score.

Day 25: My morning routine followed the same steps as any other day. Shower, dress myself, find my way to the break room and my first cup of coffee, and most importantly avoid Sonya. Oh yeah, that last part has been taken care of. Too soon? Eh she was psychotic anyway. For the best.

            I feel conflicted that I don’t have much remorse for the fallen cultist. But maybe it’s more inner turmoil that I’m not still shaken up from seeing a godsend in the form of a lobotomy so close. I was never good with guts and gore, but this time it helped me out.

            Before my shift started there was an announcement over the intercom calling all on-duty staff to report to the main hall. I had nearly all of my scrubs on, so I finished dressing promptly and followed the rest of the doctors like a proper cultist.

            When all 143 of us or so found a seat in the mail hall, the lights dimmed abruptly and a single man walked up to the dais. It was the same officer who gave John his assignment. His sandy hair was parted to one side with four freckles dotting only his left cheek. He cleared his throat briefly, then began to speak. “Thank you all for coming, the Divine One appreciates all of your loyalty. I assembled you here today to make a grand announcement. Your resident lead Doctor, John Donaldson, has been selected to serve the Archon personally. He is being granted this prestigious honor through hard work, perseverance, and above all else, his devotion to Her Holiness. Let us celebrate this great achievement.”

            The officer gestured for the crowd to clap, and clap they did. They hooted and hollered and exhausted themselves over the whole ordeal. Meanwhile, John made his way to the dais to shake the man’s hand and say a few words of his own. When he stood before the room, he brushed off his jacket once, twice, then spoke. “Thank you, your Holiness, and thank you all for your constant support and assistance in getting this facility up and running. It means so much that I will share a place at the holy table with you all. I want to keep this brief so I will invite up the five staff members who will be sharing this honor with me on floor 260.”

            John started to call out names one by one. Gerard, Sally, Debbie, and Jax all walked up to stand behind John on the dais. Then he spoke my name loud and clear. He found me in the crowd and winked. This was everything I had worked for to this point, but I’d be lying if I wasn’t scared shitless. The chance of something going wrong was never zero, and I couldn’t let that go.

            I slowly made my way to the dais, rubbing my sweaty hands on my scrubs to calm myself. When I made it to John’s outstretched hand, I took it and clasped weakly. John, on the other hand, gripped me with such fervor and brought me in close so only I could hear his whispers. “You did good. You were very fortunate that you weren’t hurt during that horrible accident. If I knew you would spring that close to the action I may have been even more discrete with my actions. No worry though, it all worked out in the end. I knew her holiness picked you for a reason. She won’t let harm befall you. Not after all the hardships she has carried you through. Congratulations, you’re destined for great things. I can’t wait until we can sit and discuss this with the Archon.”

            He let go of my hand and pointed for me to stand in line with the rest of his handpicked staff.

            Well, my luck keeps getting better, or far, far worse. I really can’t tell yet. A religious nutcase who wants me dead because of the competition I possessed and now an even bigger cultist who will kill for me because I’m some messianic figure? I sure hope the world is dust and ruin up above because nothing could keep me as entertained as this. A normal world would be boring. I might be eating my words pretty soon.

            Phew, two steps down. Time for the big leagues.

Day 33: I’ve woken for roughly a week now in a new room that is really about the same as my last one. A bed, a washroom, a small couch and ottoman, and the Pièce de résistance, a small portrait of the Divine One. Or perhaps, whatever these people believe she looks like. Her blonde locks curled and caressed her visage as they flowed out of frame. Her emerald eyes flushed with light, and her skin was free of any imperfections. Her mouth slightly upturned in a smile. Quite cliche stuff if you ask me, but whatever works for them, I guess.

            I have yet to meet the Archon, despite John’s incessant optimism that it will be any day now. We were informed that we had to quarantine on the 260th floor until we were deemed safe for the Archon. That only lasted a couple of days, but I got to stay in my room, not a cramped box this time. I couldn’t be more grateful for that. Since then we’ve been diligently assisting any patients that are admitted to us. The illnesses and injuries from this corner of the bunker have been far more bland. A broken limb here and there with a multitude of scraps and bruises have been the worst of the injuries. I guess they don’t get their hands dirty up here like the basement of this refrigerator.

            Oh my, how could I have forgotten. Something extraordinary happened when I reached the 260th floor. I was taken to the cafeteria after the quarantine period ended. I grabbed some grub, enough to restore my energy. As I was finding my way to a seat, I saw they had a coffee pot, still steaming, set atop a cafe station. I readily poured myself a large mug of the glorious elixir and mixed it with the last bit of cream they had. I nearly forgot about my food to take a gulp of coffee for the first time in two days. I promise it was not my hunger, thirst, or exhaustion that caused this, but I can say for certain that the coffee on the 260th floor was of a purer form. This was the best coffee I had ever had. The fact that these heathens would hide away the prime coffee for themselves and not share with the remaining sliver of humanity is gross misconduct and is arguably a greater offense than the apocalypse itself. Horrible people, but my God is this coffee delicious. 

            As for my three-step foolproof plan, I am nearly at its end. Despite John’s fruitless optimism, I think his standing within this cult and his insistence that I have some important part to play in their religion will carry me to the finish line of my plan. At least, in a perfect world that’s how it would go. And since there is no world left I’ll leave that up to whoever finds this journal on if that improves my odds or not.

Day 41: With every slice of information I gather, I grow increasingly confused at the logic behind this bunker and its inhabitants. I’ve tried to get to the bottom of this mystery with small talk between the rest of my medical team and any bystander I may encounter for a short time. Nobody seems concerned in the slightest. If anything, they’re overjoyed at the whole premise of the apocalypse. The apocalypse being foretold and it bringing in a new wave of prosperity for the divine followers and blah blah blah. I’m not a religious man, but I believe in Christianity, all of God’s followers will be in heaven at the time of the apocalypse. I don’t understand why these people are so glad to still be here, and jammed in a tuna can no less. It’s all a real head scratcher.

            On one of my daily talks with John, a familiar face interrupted to pass along a message. It was the dark-haired woman who saved me after my first quarantine. She slipped into the room, whispered a few words into John’s ear, and left without another word. She did spare me a parting glance though. That same darkness behind her eyes remained as she trailed away.

            When I felt she was gone for long enough, I spoke up. “She saved me, in a sense, when I first got here. Seraphina, right?”

            John perked up at the whole situation. “Correct, that was Seraphina. A truly devout soul. I’m honored to serve with her. In fact, she provided me with a glorious piece of news.”

            “Oh yeah? What’s that?” I asked.

            John grinned so wide, I thought his cheeks were going to split open. “We officially have an appointment with the Archon. Ten days from now, we will tend to him in his quarters. He has a scheduled checkup they would like me to oversee with my team.”

            I smiled back at John to assure him of my own excitement, but I couldn’t help having a small darkness in the back of my mind. Like something could go wrong, horribly wrong. Of course, I’ve had a plethora of chances to have something bite me in the ass, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t anything at stake now of all times. I’ll cross my fingers for now.

Day 50: Tomorrow is the big day. I will be mere feet from the Archon. I do not know what to expect from their leader. I haven’t heard any specifics about them besides how close to the Divine One they are. Yeah sure, not buying that, but if it makes everyone else happy, by all means.

            Nothing out of the ordinary has happened since Seraphina informed John of the Archon’s appointment. Business as usual. Well, until it isn’t.

            I honestly don’t have anything of importance to log today. Perhaps I fear tomorrow being my last day on earth. I don’t want my last words to equate to nervous ramblings, so I will end this briefly like the stoic hero I am.

Day 51: I met John and the remainder of our team in the main corridor of floor 260. It was a broad hall with seamless metal plates covering the wall and ceiling. Drab stuff. The light fixtures hung overhead in a single file row, impressively illuminating the whole of the space. John’s demeanor was sterner than it usually was. He was laser focused on this moment, and would be certain the rest of us were as well. He went on to explain the importance of this achievement to all of us in an excruciatingly lengthy set of examples. All of which I let float out the other ear because I was rather worried about the chances of the Archon’s chambers providing refreshments, specifically coffee to us. If I start to get the completely uncorrelated headaches in a few hours, I will be very cranky to this high and mighty Archon.

            Nonetheless, John finished his strained ramblings and led us ever deeper through the corridor. We made countless lefts and rights, I lost track of where we were some time ago. Eventually we came to a large black door, inlaid with gold symbols. Four armed guards were posted in front. John took to their requests and provided identification and the formal order while the rest of us stood in the back. After a moment, the guards nodded to one another and John before opening the door for us all.

            Upon entering this new room, I was taken aback by the abrupt change of scenery. The metal panels and bright lights were washed away and replaced with polished wood flooring and soft chandeliers. I felt like the eras had turned back with the entrance to the Archon’s hall. At the end of this wooden and gold spectacle sat the Archon, or who I assume him to be, on his sturdy onyx throne. He was a rather tall man, but slimmer than myself. His skin was like a dark oak, and his eyes seemed heavier than was comfortable. He stood and walked down to us, who were already kneeling. His robes were tapestries of emerald and gold and ivory. He reached down to rest his palm atop each of our heads. I felt as if he gripped my head far tighter than the rest, but I couldn’t say for certain. In short order he had us rise to meet his gaze and receive affinity, as they called it. We stuck out our hands while he looked down at us with a slight smile and placed a small red wedge in our hands. I have a feeling they stole this idea from someone, but this would not be the place to air such grievances. We all chewed the small crimson food and swallowed it. It was rather bland, but it was pleasant in an odd way.

            After the brief ceremony had concluded the Archon saw us back to his chambers where we began the medical procedures. It started as a brief wellness check, but when the Archon removed his robes I could see that at least half of his torso was not flesh but metal. Where the cold metal and dark skin met there was a hideous red scarring, almost as if his body was rejecting the partial torso prosthetic. John took the lead in analyzing the infection along the run of the prosthetic, he swabbed at it with a disinfectant and took a few small flesh samples. The Archon never even winced at the procedure. His eyes, I noticed, were lasered on me. Unlike Seraphina, I couldn’t get a read on anything behind those pupils. They were like dead eyes in a corpse. I kept back the shiver that tickled up my spine.

            John quickly finished packing his equipment after the samples were stored away, and gestured for us to see ourselves out. As I was walking away I heard the Archon thank John and mumble something else to his servants. His voice was like dry leaves scraping across stone. I had a feeling the Archon was far older than he appeared. I would’ve originally assumed he was in his late 50s but something wasn’t right here.

            I now sit in my quarters after John debriefed the team and explained to us that we would be making daily visits to the Archon for the foreseeable future. John said with such righteous fervor, “The Archon is of the highest priority. This is a great honor for us all.”

            Despite his innate insanity, I really did like the man. Of course, he would not hold me back from escape if it came down to that. And of course, if there is anywhere to even escape to when all this is said and done.

Day 55: I stretch my legs after my morning cup of caffeinated goodness with cream. Ready for another uneventful day of biopsies and general maintenance on our suspect neighborhood cyborg. Since my first encounter with the Archon, I’ve pestered John about my ability to speak with him or be more involved in the medical procedures. I haven’t been granted either, despite John’s insistence that I still have an important role to play in the near future. He assured me that soon I will be given my chance to have my name told for generations to come in the light of the Divine One. I don’t doubt his honesty, but I doubt the reality of his religion.

            I go through the rest of my mind-numbing routine of sanitizing, dressing myself, sanitizing again, then grabbing another cup of coffee for the walk to the Archon’s chambers. Unfortunately the old fool doesn’t drink coffee, so I have no access to caffeine while we are in his presence. On top of that, the guards don’t let us in with anything besides our clothes. The medical supplies never leave the Archon’s chambers. So of course I’m stuck with chugging my coffee every morning on my walk over.

            As we arrive to receive affinity from the creepy cyborg man, we are ushered into his chambers with more haste than usual. The Archon started to limp today. His condition has clearly worsened since we’ve started tending to his infection. As I help Jax run vitals, John derobes the Archon and steadily works at his infection that now has a slight ooze leaking from the jagged red lines of his torso. John had a concerned look on his face and asked the Archon if he may use a new medicine to treat the infection. The Archon nodded his approval. He still showed no pain from the poking and treatments that could not have felt pleasant.

            In short order, John administered an antibiotic to the Archon and passed along detailed instructions to his servants on how much liquid and food he should ingest for the next 24 hours. I turned to leave with the rest of the team, but the Archon reached out a lanky arm, like a wayward tree branch, and grabbed my shoulder. I almost jumped out of my skin at the sensation, but I tried to remain professional and turned to the ill man. He leaned toward me and spoke as softly as he could muster. “I know you have been patient, young one. Tomorrow we will speak. There is much to discuss on the matter of your arrival here.” I had no words for the Archon at first. I just nodded, then sputtered out a “thank you” before trailing off with John for the day.

            Tomorrow is my big break, I can feel it. I will sway the Archon in his ill state to grant me some way out of here, or some answers to what is going on here.

Day 57: It is all worthless. I write this to you along with all the prior days on bits of notebook paper, napkins, even a used envelope. This must be shocking, but my plan to sway the Archon did not work, in fact it backfired in almost the worst way possible. Enough of that for now, let’s start yesterday morning when John was all over me before our appointment with the Archon.

            I had mentioned to him the Archon’s words to me. He became overjoyed and started going on and on about how he was right and he knew I would be of crucial importance to Her Holiness. He treated me to a shot of whiskey he had stored away in his office for such a momentous occasion. I’ve always been more of a vodka man myself, but with my life on the line, I asked for a double. John obliged happily. We spent the remainder of our free time with small talk about our families, I didn’t have much of one before doomsday. However, John had a wife and four kids. He was quite somber mentioning them and told me none of them made it to the bunker in time. I gave him the best pat on the back I could muster, then mentioned the time to him. John composed himself and joined me to meet up with our team once more.

            I forgot my second cup of coffee on the way to the Archon’s chambers, but I decided I could do without rather than being late to such an important opportunity. Brushing through the affinity and medical procedures that John said were going according to plan. He informed the Archon that he wasn’t out of the woods just yet, but things were looking up. The Archon smiled for the first time since I met him. His teeth were actually quite shiny and not falling apart like the rest of him.

            As the rest of the team, including John, were escorted out, I awaited the Archon’s words to me. He rose from his bed and reclothed himself in his tri-colored robes. He waved for me to follow him into another room behind his bedchamber. We walked through another hallway that transitioned back to the metal paneling from the beautiful woods and golds in the other rooms. He sat me down in a well-cushioned chair and he sat across from me. A small table sat beside each of us, a steaming cup of coffee on mine, just water on his. My gut reaction was to grab the coffee and chug it down, but the Archon started talking, and distracted my instincts. He said, “So, I’ve heard much praise from John and even Seraphina about you. Both of them are inclined to believe the Divine One has sent you here for an important cause. Would you agree with these sentiments?”

            I took my hand away from the coffee and put it in my lap. “I’m not really familiar with your religion, so I don’t know how much I could play a role in some prophecy or whatever they possibly think. I’m not opposed to learning though,” I lied.   

            “I think you can play a role in our prophecy without a doubt. The Divine One has been known to summon nonbelievers unto us in times of need. I believe that is exactly what you are.”

            “I appreciate your optimism, Archon. What will you require of me to help? And if I may be so bold, could I ask a favor of you in exchange for helping your cause?”

            The Archon was visibly taken aback at my statement. “Do you not see your action to help thousands of people as a reward in itself?”

            At that moment I knew in my mind that I had to leap at the chance to get some information, or help my own cause. I may have been too ambitious for my own good. “No, unfortunately it is not. I would like to know what is going on here and if there is a way back to the world above.”

            At that moment, the Archon’s eyes became dark pits, and for the first time I could see the darkness behind them. His entire demeanor shifted. The hobbling old fool was now a cunning veteran. I was out of my element in this room, alone with the most powerful man left on earth as far as I could tell. He calmly reached over to take a sip from his water and spoke. “What do you think is going on here? Let’s start with that.”

            I told him how I thought I was just a lucky survivor who was in the right place at the right time. He informed me that I was mostly correct. He said, “Yes, you were in a perfect place to be saved by our overeager workers. They likely wanted to find a new worker for the medical team which you know, and have done a rather good job up to this point. The one thing you’re not understanding is what is going on here, correct?”

            I nodded deeply, having nothing else to give the old man. He continued on his speech that was gaining more malice with each sentence. “I created this bunker, this near utopia to serve as a temporary holding center for all members of the Divine Church. We will populate what remains of the Earth when it is safe to return to the surface. I believe that is where you will come into play.”

            I didn’t like the path the Archon was going down in his ramblings, but I made it clear to him that I didn’t quite understand what he was going on about. Again, he elaborated further on the situation we found ourselves in. “Oh you fool, or perhaps this is all because you are far from a fool. The droves of followers who answer to my every whim are all fools. They believe in this religion that I made up in my younger days as an experiment to gain power. As you can see, it exceeded all of my expectations. There is no Divine One. It’s all a hoax, and so many foolish souls bought into it without a second thought. And this apocalypse, this doomsday, it’s all fabricated as well. There was no prophetic coming of fire that would cleanse the Earth of nonbelievers. Just me and years of toil to acquire an apt amount of nuclear weaponry that would cause a chain reaction globally. Leaving nothing but dust. I know, you think I’m mad, but I’ve stocked enough supplies for my followers to live for a few generations down here if need be. We will be fine, and I will have my place in history above the likes of Napoleon, Alexander the Great, even Jesus Christ himself. Who will be left to question my legitimacy?” He cleared his throat and sipped some more water. “So, I will have you go up the shaft to the surface to see if it is habitable yet. I made sure this bunker wasn’t near any blast zones. If you die, I will know I have to wait a few months before sending another devoted member of the Divine Church up on a mission of the utmost importance. I thank you for being so ambitious, it made it all the easier to pick the first sacrifice, oh pardon me, hero I mean.”

            I was flabbergasted at the revelation. I didn’t know what to do. At first, I was shocked that the Archon would spill his entire facade to me without any pressure, but when I realized he had no intentions of letting me live, I understood.

            Now I sit in another cramped box, waiting to be set free to the surface. They embedded a tracker on me that relays my vitals to a medical staff on standby. I have not seen John since he left just before the revelation of me being a cattle ready for slaughter was bestowed upon me. I am not allowed to bring anything up with me except an unadorned uniform. If you’re reading this, I hope you are safe from the Divine Church. I hope you are far from them. These notes have been bound in string and medical tape that I was able to acquire before the Archon had guards escort me to a new cell. I shoved them into the out valve duct near the main elevator shaft. I do not know where they will land, but hope is the only virtue that remains in me. I will likely die in the coming hours in a destitute wasteland of ash and brimstone. If I am the last of the free world then I will shout, I will rage, I will cry out. In the end, I fear it will all fall silent on a dead world.

The post The Doomsday Bunker Café first appeared on The Writing Forge.

The post The Doomsday Bunker Café appeared first on The Writing Forge.

There was once a young boy given a gift by God. 

A tremendous gift so sure and so pure that with it came a strong spirit meant for greatness. But only he knew that. 

One early spring morning, he took in a deep breath of the clear and misty air and stared out into the forest by his house. A wind like a fire came over him, igniting his mind and imagination. He wanted to capture the beauty of the nature he witnessed. So he set to work. He sat at a desk and penciled an outline. He scribbled. Then drew. And his heart thumped with every line, thundered with every shade.

And when he finished, he smiled. Trees and rivers and birds. It was by no means perfect. But it was innocent and done well for a child of his age. 

Then and there, he fell in love with the craft. 

No more than a year later, his cousin gave him a set of brushes and a palette of paints for his birthday. His first set. One of the few grand smiles he’d ever have shined on his face and in his spirit that day. A day he would remember. 

The first painting was even more enthralling than his first drawing. The blood rushed to his head, his soul filled with joy. Happy, he thanked God for such a gift. His strokes were not yet perfect. But he knew that. And he vowed to do better.

Each time he painted thereafter was the same. His heart sang with freedom. He moved the brush, and his spirit chirped. 

On a day when the boy and his father went to church, the local priest asked, “So, what are you going to be when you grow up, young man?” 

The boy squared his fists at his hips like a hero of romance and shouted: “I am going to be a great artist!” 

“Will you, now?” The priest laughed, staring into the boy’s determined eyes. “Your child has a strong will. Better put it to good use.”

And that was when the boy’s father examined his son from the side of his glance. 

A week later, the boy’s father took his son to the customs office where he worked. He showed him what he did and attempted to demonstrate the value of such a profession. 

“Father,” said the boy. “I don’t want to do this.”

And the father clenched his heart and squinted. “You don’t see the value in my profession?”

“I never said that, father. I just want to become an artist.”

And his father frowned. “No, you will become an officer of the law! And that is final.”

“But I have a different dream! A different passion! I’m not meant to do what you do!”

“Then you will do anything else! No son of mine is going to become a loser! An artist is nothing and if you become one, you will die alone. Do you want to be homeless? Do you want to be a bum? Artists don’t make any money!”

“You’re wrong!” The boy teared up, clenched his fists, and raced out of the building. He denied his father’s words in his head. No, no, no – he is wrong! I will be a great artist! I will!

One night, when the boy should have been doing his chores, his father marched into his room. He found his son doing the unthinkable… painting. He smacked a bruise into the boy’s cheek, and yelled at him until the boy became nearly deaf. A stream of blood fell from his cheek. And he wept. 

In school, whenever the boy got his hands on a piece of paper, he would scribble and doodle and practice his craft. But the teachers would take his art, tear it up, and yell at him.

“Oh, so you think you will be a great artist, huh? You will not! Focus on your studies! Don’t have your head in the clouds!” they’d say. But the boy persisted and kept practicing. So, the teachers would demean him. “Your drawings are ugly! You have no chance to be an artist! Listen to your father!” 

The teachers would discipline him. And when his father heard about this, he would beat his son though his mother would try to protect him. 

God will help me, the boy said to himself. God will guide me. He loves me! And indeed, the more the boy prayed, the better he became. The boy had trusted in God so much that he even considered becoming a priest. But he was convinced that God had other plans for him. 

When the time came for the boy to go to high school, he begged and pleaded with his father to let him attend a classic high school, where he could learn more of the arts. But his father ignored his son’s request and sent him to a technical school of his own choosing.

Since words nor reasons nor cries had worked, the boy did poorly in his studies on purpose, in hopes that his father would let him devote himself to his dream. 

But when the young boy returned home for the summer, no one greeted him at the door. He called for his mother, and his mother stepped out of a room, waving him to enter. When he did, he found his father lying sick in bed.

“Your father is dying,” said his mother. “Go and make amends with him.”

The young boy moved next to his father. His father spoke between coughs. “You have failed another class …? You are no son of mine … you’re a failure.”

And his father passed away. The dagger of those words pressed into the young boy’s heart. A deep wave of sadness overcame him.

Not long after, the young boy did worse in school than he had ever done before. So, his mother let him quit.

The young boy grew into a young man and moved to the city where he could prove to the doubters that they were wrong. He was determined to be a great artist. He studied the art of the greats, the classics. He learned fine lines and delicate strokes. He got better with time and endured tedious efforts and patient pain to perfect his art. 

The young man grew enough courage to apply to a school where he could further develop his craft and become one of the greats. A rush of inspiration passed through him. He spent weeks perfecting every line, enduring much to make them straight and precise. On the day before he submitted his application, he knelt in the pews of a church. Before God.

He prayed, “I trust you, God. I know you won’t let me down. Help me, I beg you.”

Weeks came and went and a letter arrived at his door.

He picked up the letter with a twist in his gut and hope in his heart. He opened it, bracing himself. He scanned the words… 

…rigid…no life…consider architecture, not art… 

He blinked in shock and grieved in silence.

But the young man had a strong spirit.

He did his best to take the criticisms and try again. He entertained a less rigid style, worked to imbue his art with life, and tried many different methods to make his works good enough.

He prayed to God again, still trusting, and submitted his application a second time.

When the letter came, the words read…

…have found your drawings unsatisfactory… 

After all the pain, all the effort… his heart split open. His face twitched. His jaw trembled. And tears swelled. He fell to the ground and wept.

Terrible, terrible! He muttered to himself. I am terrible! I am no artist! 

He was not terrible. But he allowed himself to believe what others had told him. Within him, an anger festered. Father did this to me! He made me doubt myself! 

And the thoughts continued, galloping in his mind, so fast and decisive, so certain. He prayed, “God, I prayed to You! I begged You! Time and time again, kneeling before Your altar! I trusted You to help me! And yet You let this happen! You are a trickster god that let me believe I had a gift! You laughed at me while I sank into the abyss! I do not want to believe that! But either You are a cruel God that does not love me, or You do not exist at all! And it would be easier for me to believe that You do not exist.”

He looked at the Cross, which he once so trusted, and he bent it in his mind. And so, the young man’s faith left him, and he began to believe only in himself. 

He went to his friends for comfort, but they, too, were all broken by the world. Some penniless, some in debt, others struggling to find a job. Their words casted blame on others, and because of the festering wrath within his heart, he agreed with them. He wanted to help his friends and his people. To fight against the same system that forced them so low. But he was poor and had become homeless.

The young man, who had given up on his dreams, therein decided to join the military. Maybe this was the best path? Maybe it was a way to punish himself? Maybe a way to find purpose. Strength. Ultimately, he ran from the pain of childhood, of discouragement, of failure, and the worst of all – a broken dream and a broken heart.  

The young man stared off into space with burning hatred in his heart.

“Sir,” said the recruitment officer. “Please. Sign your name.”

The young man looked at the papers. Took in a deep breath. And signed his name:

…Adolf Hitler…

Hitler’s Original Artwork…

The post The Young Artist first appeared on The Writing Forge.

The post The Young Artist appeared first on The Writing Forge.

She was very much alive. Living. Breathing. Bright.

The night of the wedding was when I met her. The same night she passed.

I knew only the bride. A cousin of mine. The room for the celebration was filled with friends and family that I hardly knew, most of whom I’d never met. An occasion where I accurately guessed that the majority of my time would be spent in quiet. I could do little but watch and put on a fake smile.

I was glad for the bride. Who wouldn’t be? But it was difficult to feel genuine here. With not one friend to talk to and everyone preoccupied in their own conversations. So, I sat at my table, expecting small talk, but mostly silence.

I should mention that I’m an introvert. I don’t start conversations.

But she sat next to me. The “dead” girl. See, she was rather outgoing, unlike myself. Her eyes glanced about. At me. At my food. I looked up, wondering why she was looking at my food, but then stared right back down at my chicken.

Her eyes persisted. And mine were distracted. So, too, my appetite. I coughed.

“Why are you eating your chicken like that?” she asked.

I stared down at my meal. The sides were cut first, and I was left with a thick piece of meat from the middle. “What do you mean?”

“I mean why are you cutting around it?” The way she said it wasn’t mean or judgy, more curious and fun. I glanced at the other plates on the table and saw that I might have been doing it wrong.

“Is there a right way?” I replied, lifting a brow ever so slightly.

“When you put it that way,” she smiled. “No, I don’t think there is.”

I jerked my head back. I, quite honestly, was not expecting such a response. “Well, I do it with everything I eat. My steak. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I save the middle because it’s the best part. And the outer parts are just… gross.”

“I agree.”

I nodded. “So, then, how do you eat chicken?”

“See, I like to flay mine. Remove the skin entirely.”

I squinted. “Really? I didn’t think anyone was crazier than me.”

“Alora. Nice to meet you!” She held out her hand, and I shook it.

Alora, I whispered to myself. It wasn’t until now that I got a good view of her. She was gorgeous.

Black hair curved and touched her shoulders. Straight and wound in a bun at her back. Her dress modest but brilliant, rose red and inset. The style fit. And she. A beauty to behold. Short in stature, elegant and thin. Her pale face without blemish. Even as she slumped her shoulders, she seemed to still the room with affectionate brown eyes. Confident yet serenading.

The spirit she brought, more elegant still. A bright demure. A joyful surprise. A delightful cheer hidden behind not much of a smile.

And I. I was moved by her. More so than others. Drawn to talk with her. Like a monk drawn to solitude.

“Johnathan,” I introduced myself. “So, tell me. In what other ways are you crazier than me?”

“I like to read books upside down.”

“Okay, that’s bizarre. I’m pretty sure I read books like a normal person.”

“Is there a right way to read a book?” she pressed.

“I guess not,” I smirked.

“Well, you should try it upside down sometime.”

“Wouldn’t the blood rush to your head and you’d get dizzy?”

“That’s what’s so fun about it!”

I was blatantly grinning at this point. “All right, what about this? Do you eat your brownies with hot sauce?”

“No, but now I know what I’m doing tomorrow.”

“Really? Most people shrink back from that.”

“If you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m weird…”

The conversation carried. We talked about everything. From sports to Segways. Nothing was off the table. And the way she spoke, with such tact, was more than I expected from any small talk. But, then again, this wasn’t small talk. It was something deeper. Surprisingly, we had more in common than I could ever have anticipated. Same political views. Same religion. Same obsession with jazz and 80’s movies. She really was weird.

In came Chuck.

He was older than I by a little. He was supposed to be sitting at another table.

“Dancing soon,” said Chuck, leaning his arm on Alora’s chair. “You better be ready.” He sounded French. Did I mention that I hate the French?

“Yes!!!” She turned to him. “I love dancing!” She looked back at me.

“Me, too,” I said, delighted that we had yet another interest in common, yet slightly annoyed with Chuck for interrupting our conversation.

Chuck imposingly took a seat. “And who’s this?”

I was introduced. And I reluctantly shook his hand. A skeptical look on my face.

“So, Chuck, are you Alora’s brother?” My heart throbbed with hope.

“No, just someone she knows. We met in Paris.” He said it so French that I wanted to hit him.

“Well, I’ve never heard of a Frenchman named Chuck before.”

“My mother’s from Germany. Interesting story on that, might I say…”

And he told the story of how his mother traveled to America when she was young and that she was so deeply inspired by Chuck Norris that she vowed to name her firstborn boy after him. The story was actually really interesting, and I might have wanted to be friends with him if I didn’t think he was trying to steal my opportunity to court Alora.

At some point near the end of his story, he glanced over to someone waving at him from another table. “Excuse me, but I am being called.” He turned to Alora. “Remember, Alora. Dancing.”

Although the way he said his last comment was a little strange, Chuck finally moved on to another table. And I could resume my chat.

“So…” I said. But she seemed to grow cold. And I had to scratch my head. She excused herself to go to the bathroom.

A minute later, the music started, and everyone rose to the dancefloor.

After a bit of waiting, I followed the crowd.

I started dancing but realized that I was alone. So, I stopped. And stared at the crowd that twirled in circles. I looked around for Alora. But I couldn’t find her. Neither was Chuck anywhere to be seen. My feelings toward Frenchmen were solidified. Well, that is, Frenchmen named Chuck.

I gazed into a crowd of strangers. The feeling of discomfort returned to me.

But then she returned, too. From behind a glass door near a patio connected to the dancefloor. My mood immediately improved. Especially since Chuck was still nowhere to be seen.

She said nothing and held out her hand. I took it. And we danced. Swung in circles like the strangers did. I didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. And I smiled. And she smiled. And we danced until we were out of breath.

We crashed on some chairs, smiling, laughing. Not saying much. And I stared at her. And she at me. And I asked, “Say, do you have a boyfriend?” My heart stopped. Blood flushed to my cheeks.

“I don’t,” she said, but then went cold. Quiet. For a long time. I should’ve been relieved. But her whole behavior changed. Her attitude had gone from happy to sad in a matter of moments. And that’s when her expression stiffened. And she stared out as if into nothing.

I could hear the pain in her voice.

“You have to understand, I – I have certain internal complications that make it impossible for me to have a romantic relationship.”

Shock took me.

And I sat there. Not doing much.

In came Chuck again, sitting on the other side of her. He didn’t say a word. He just sat there and watched the dancing. And he clapped along. But I didn’t care to be irritated by him. I still tried to process her words.

“What kind of internal complications?” I asked.

She swallowed, “Let’s not talk about it now. Come on, let’s dance!”

And she held out her hand for both of us to go with her. But I did not take it.

After sitting and staring blankly, I got up and walked to the bar. The drink of choice: cider.

The bride stepped behind me. “Hey!” she said, joy on her face. “I haven’t seen you yet.”

I turned to give her a hug. “Congratulations!” I smiled the best I could.

“Thank you, thank you! Yes, very happy to finally be done with it. I love Mark, but we both agree. It’s horrible planning weddings,” she rolled her eyes. “So, have you been enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah,” I lied. “I’ve been talking with Alora.”

“Oh, her?” Her smile dimmed. “She truly is a lovely girl, but…” She sighed.

“I think she told me,” I said. “What’s she sick with if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Cancer. She refuses to get treatment because they haven’t given her a high chance –”

“–I’m sorry for bringing it up. You shouldn’t be speaking about this on your wedding day. I’m sorry Megan. Please. Let’s talk about something happier. How’s Mark doing…?”

When the bride left to talk with the other guests, I stared into my cup. The hot and bubbling cider that filled it. My heart, too, felt filled. Warm though my mind protested. And the haze lessened. And I realized the truth about the dying gem named Alora. What she said wasn’t fraud. It wasn’t mean nor disrespectful. It wasn’t rejection. It was simply Love. Kindness. Respect. The Truth.

She was dying when all she wanted to do was truly live. And I realized that behind her aura was a truer beauty than what she had displayed.

And Chuck must have been protecting her. Darn. Now I felt bad for disliking Chuck.

I turned back to the dance floor and marched toward her. I tapped Chuck on the shoulder, and he turned. “May I cut in?” I said.

He smiled. “Happily.”

And I took her. And we danced. But then her smile faded. And she began to cry. And she cried more. And I held her. “Don’t cry,” I said. “Don’t cry.” Tears soaked the white of my suit.

“Listen to me,” I said, holding her head closer to my chest. “One day. One day when you open your eyes, everything in the world will be right. It might not be now. But it will be one day. And someone will take your hand to dance, and you won’t hold back. It will all be all right. One day.”

She wiped her eyes, and a gentle smile whispered a thank you.

And she hugged me, and I embraced her. Tightly…

She died a few months later. I remember when Megan called to tell me. I never forgot how she sounded. How her voice fumbled with sobs and hysterical echoes. True and painful sounds. And all I could do was comfort her. 

As for me, I can say much about Alora, although I only truly knew her for that one day at the wedding.

Beauty of beauties. Her name was Alora. And when she died, I did not mourn. Because she didn’t die just once. She died a thousand times every day. In a thousand different ways. Every time she saw two lovers hold hands. Or embrace one other. Or dance. Every time she saw, every time we spoke, she died.

And now. Now her life is dancing.

The post Dancing with a Dead Girl first appeared on The Writing Forge.

The post Dancing with a Dead Girl appeared first on The Writing Forge.